


Good people, bad place

by dramady, jeck



Category: Shame (2011)
Genre: Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sissy's suicide attempt brings them both back to a place they thought they'd left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Contains incest and very dark themes.  
> DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Steve McQueen. No profit is sought or made.  
> A/N: Both author's agree that the movie did _not_ suggest incest themes between Sissy and Brandon. What we attempted to do was mold what we wrote into the movie canon.

By the time she came home from the hospital, all his cuts and bruises were healed. His flat was clean; he'd even hired someone to come in, clean it ceiling to floor. He'd bought new bedding and towels, high quality of course, he'd stocked the fridge with real food.

They could pretend they were normal for a little while anyway.

He picked her up at the hospital and drove her home and held the door for her, watching her, unable not to watch her, like she was a wild animal ready to strike out, dart away without any warning. He had to be ready.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked her as he shut the apartment door.

Sissy walked in slowly, looking around like she had never been here before but she knew her way around. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she looked over at Brandon, smiling. "Something strong." She was slow to blink. "Please."

"I'm not sure you should be drinking," he told her, heading for the kitchenette for water. After all, she did try to kill herself.

Her smile was quick to fade and she looked down, around, not at him, then Sissy shrugged. He was right but it was worth a try. "You're angry." Again. He was always angry at her. Slowly she followed behind Brandon.

"I'm not angry." He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to her, leaning against the counter so he could watch her. He'd been scared. Terrified that he'd lose her. He'd hated that feeling.

She took the bottle with a small jerk, trying to turn the cap but her wrists _hurt_ and she winced. Sissy looked up at Brandon, hair falling over her eyes as she pushed the bottle back toward him. "Can I stay?" She asked softly.

Taking the bottle back, Brandon pulled off the cap and handed it back. "Where are you going to go if you didn't?" It wasn't even a question, was it? She had nowhere else to go. At least, then, he could watch over her.

As Sissy took a sip of the water, she stared back at him, a wary look on her face. She stepped forward, smiling crookedly. "Can I have a hug?" She asked quietly, arms already opened.

His mouth in a line, Brandon stood for a moment before he made a sound and moved into her embrace, arms around her shoulders, cheek against her hair. She smelled like stale hospital air.

With her face in his chest, Sissy allowed herself to smile a bit more. She murmured softly, "you're my brother," like a reminder. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. "I'm sorry …" Because she was always sorry.

"Don't do it again," he whispered harshly, grip on her tightening as if he could envelope her and protect her from herself. "Don't. You need a bath."

Sissy pressed her face on his chest, groaning and smacking his side before laughing. "Fine." She looked up, smiling at Brandon, her hair falling over her face. "I'll have to suffer through that stuff you put in your hair again." But she didn't yet move away.

He'd need to bathe her too; she couldn't get the bandages wet. Brandon looked down at her. "Don't do it again," he said, expression and voice hard. Then he stepped out of the hug to go to the bathroom and start the water.

She followed him with her eyes, her smile fading, concern creasing her brows. She fucked up, she knew, but she needed him; she didn't want to leave.

In the bathroom, the water still running, Sissy started to pull her clothes off. She hissed a few times from the healing cut to her wrists and she stood there naked as the water filled. She whispered again, "I'm sorry," reaching to touch any part of Brandon.

He moved away under the guise of getting a towel. "Keep your wrists dry." Then he reached to hold her arm to help her into the water.

Sissy sank in the tub, the warm water lapping over her body until she could lean against the side. She tried to catch Brandon's hand to hold, her arms still up over her head, "I'm keeping them dry." She kept watching him.

He couldn't not look at her; he had to, reaching for a wash sponge and the soap, squirting it on, then rubbing the sponge between his hands to lather it. He knelt on the floor next to the tub and touched the sponge just under her chin.

Humming, closing her eyes and then tilting her head to the side, Sissy let Brandon bathe her. She took in deep breaths, her one arm raised behind her head, the other she hooked over Brandon's shoulder. "Mmm..." Sissy smiled, eyes still closed.

The sponge moved over her skin, her shoulders, up her arms, her armpits. Then her breasts. They were full, the nipples hardening. Brandon was silent.

Her eyes were open now, watching him. Watching. Then Sissy turned, telling him, "do my back," with the water sloshing off the side of the tub as she moved. She looked over her shoulder, still watching him. "Please?"

With a nod, he ran the sponge over her back, rubbing it in circles and working down, stopping just at the curve of her buttocks.

Sissy moved forward, lifting up just a bit, both her hands on the wall opposite, up to keep them dry. She hung her head down and hummed again. Brandon always took care of her even if he tried not to.

Over the curve then, and he dipped the sponge between her legs, if only briefly. "Careful. Now turn back over." Brandon hung the sponge on the hook. "Do you want me to wash your hair?"

"With your dog shampoo?" She smiled at him. "Sure." Sissy moved, water splashing on the sides of the tub that she held on to, one edge of her bandage soaked. "Sorry..." Both wrists she lifted up for his inspection.

" We can rewrap your wrists when you're done, just … keep them over your head. It's not dog shampoo. It's … expensive." He might have been smiling a little, as he urged her down to dunk her head.

When Sissy re-emerged she spat water out, eyes tightly shut, shaking her head side to side. Her hand went to her face, scrubbing water away, then when she blinked them open, she was right by Brandon's face. "It's horrible shampoo." But she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Keep your hands away from your face. I'll do it." Brandon reached for the shampoo, starting to massage it into her hair. Then he had her dunk again and after that he stood, to help her stand, holding her by the elbows. "Just stand there. We'll dry you off before you step out."

So, that was what she did, standing there dripping wet, only to remember to bend down to drain the tub before straightening up and holding those bandaged wrists out for the towel. "They gave me spare bandages," she told him. "...and other stuff."

"I know." The towel in hand, he urged her hands up, then he started to dry her, wrists to down her arms to her shoulders. Over her breasts, down her stomach, watching his hands, not looking at her.

She sighed, watching him. Both her hands went to his shoulders, holding on when Sissy lifted first one leg then the other to be dried off. Her one arm slipped across his back, leaning until she could get both feet out of the tub. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Maybe we can order in?" Sissy tried to peer down to see his face.

"Get dressed," he told her, hanging the towel on the rack. "I have food. We'll have cheese and crackers. And change your bandages." He draped another towel over her head with a small smile.

Sissy pulled the towel off and hits him with it, smiling back. "Can I borrow a shirt?" She padded back out the hallway and into his bedroom already helping herself by looking through his closet.

"You have clothes," he reminded her. But Brandon didn't stop her, going to the kitchen to pull out a frozen pizza. He put that in the oven and got a beer, taking a long drink of it, closing his eyes.

A moment later Sissy was there in one of Brandon's shirts, rubbing her head with the towel. She looked up at him then held her hand out. _Just a sip_ , her expression said. She needed it.

He rolled his eyes but held it out to her, not letting go of the bottle. Just a sip because he wouldn't let her have more. He pointed to the empty pizza box with his free hand; spinach and mushroom.

This was almost normal. Almost. Not that either of them knew what normal was.

Sissy let the bottle go then she pressed herself against his chest for a few beats before taking a seat. Her hand was in her damp hair, brushing it back, watching Brandon.

When the pizza was done, Brandon cut it and brought it to the table and let her pull out a slice to take a bite. She made an exaggerated groan. "So good!" Then another bite.

"Just eat. Are your bandages still wet?" he asked, taking a slice himself. It was frozen pizza.

"We can change it later." Sissy's hand reached for his bottle of beer which was pulled out of her reach.

"You have water," Brandon told her.

"Beer goes better with pizza," Sissy reasoned, reaching for it again, leaning past Brandon to try and take the bottle. "Come on, Brandon! It's just a beer!"

"And this is just a cut." He held her wrist almost too tightly. "No, Sissy. I mean it." Then he let her go and drained the bottle to throw it in the trash.

She plopped back on the seat, frowning at Brandon before looking down at the bandages on her wrists. They were surrounded by other healed cuts and she touched them gingerly. "I know. I fucked up."

Sitting across from her, Brandon didn't speak, gaze on the floor. He could still see the blood all over the floor, in the grout between the tiles. It had taken a great deal of bleach to get it out.

She went to him, kneeling between his parted thighs, looking up at his face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." And the cuts still stung and it was a constant pain that told her she was still here, she was still alive. "I'm sorry..." Sissy stood, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Brandon."

"Sissy." He wrestled her arms away from him, holding her biceps, voice and face tight. "You come into my life and you create nothing but drama." Even as he stood, he pulled her up with him. "You - " Biting the rest back, he pushed her back into her chair, turning away, head down.

"It's not drama!" She stood back up, still only in his shirt, and she looked at him, shaking her head. "I need you. You're my brother. Why couldn't you understand that? I'm your sister. We're supposed to take care of each other."

"And where exactly does slitting your wrists fit into that, Sissy?!" He towered over her. "How is that taking care of anyone?!"

She cowered in turn, but her eyes were still on him. "If you let me, then I wouldn't be here anymore and you won't have your burden. You wouldn't feel _trapped_." Her face held the pain that those words left on her.

"... If I let you kill yourself?" Brandon's voice lowered to a harsh whisper, face stony. "If I let you bleed to death. Is that what you mean? If I let you _die_."

Tears were already trailing slowly down her cheeks and Sissy was still staring at Brandon, unable to look away. He was always so _angry_ with her. "It's just like you asking me to leave because if I did, I'd never hear from you again. I call and you never pick up." Just like the night she slit her wrists.

"What do you _want_ from me?! What do you want!" He towered more, body curving over hers. "What do you want, Sissy?!"

Sissy stood her ground. "I'm trying! To take care of you! You won't let me! What happened to us, Brandon? You used to let me." The bandage was stained with drying blood when she reached to touch him.

He caught her arm again. "Is that what you want? Is that what all this comes down to?" He pulled her close; they were touching as much as they could be. "Is that what you want. Truly. Is that what you think will fix you?"

"I'm not the only one broken!" She yelled at him, sobbing. "We're not bad people, Brandon," she said whispered, eyes teary. Her hands were fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. "We just come from a bad place."

"This won't fix it," he whispered. "It won't fix anything." But she weighed barely anything as he lifted her to sit on his clean table. He reached under his shirt she was wearing, fingers urging her legs apart.

"I don't think we can be fixed," she told him, thighs parting along with her lips, watching him intently. "We keep trying but--" Sissy shook her head slowly, her hand reaching for his, pulling it between her legs.

Eyes hard on her face, Brandon knew where to touch, pinching almost too hard before sliding a finger inside her. His breathing roughened.

She gasped, her head falling back, her eyes closing. The sound Sissy made was too close to relief, it sounded almost like gratification. Like she'd waited so long. She parted her legs further, rocking her hips toward his hand.

He didn't remove his hand until she was quivering around him. Then he pulled his pants open, cock, hard and heavy pulled out. Brandon pulled Sissy closer to the edge of the table and pushed himself inside her, inside muscles still twitching. "Fuck," he hissed.

"Brandon--" Sissy moaned his name, both her legs wrapping around his hips, her hands flat on the table behind her. She pushed back as he thrust in, arching, nipples hard and pert under the thin shirt she wore.

A hand on her hip, he started moving, deep thrusts, smacking his hips against hers. His other hand reached under the shirt, cupping a breast. His head was back, eyes slit as he stared back at her.

This she knew. This - was more familiar. Sissy grabbed his hip, urging him harder, deeper, to take what he needed. Her lips were parted, panting, the table she was on beginning to drag on the floor. Sissy's eyes never left Brandon's face either.

Soon, he was bent over her, face buried in her neck as he fucked into her, grunting each time he did, the table legs screeching on the floor. And the closer he got to coming, the slower his thrusts were, drawing it out.

"Oh, fuck!" Sissy moaned, panting heavily, her arm around him. Her own hand was between her legs, fingers at her clit, movements slowing down to match his pace. Sissy then clenched around him, hoping it was still what he liked, what he needed, and she moaned again, feeling the slow stroke of his cock insider her and it made her hotter, wetter. "Fuck, Brandon!"

"Shut up!" he panted, arm around her waist, face still buried in her neck. "Fuck!" He was right there - it was right -

His whole body shook, muscles corded, as he came, hips still moving, pumping into her, his eyes shut tight. "Fuck."

Sissy felt the rush of him coming inside her and she moaned, finger moving faster to get herself off. She came with a cry, shuddering as she wrapped tightly around her brother, her lips on his skin, whispering his name.

He moved off her a moment later, stepping out of his pants and shorts, not looking at her as he got paper towel to wipe them both off. He brushed the towel over his dick then rubbed it between her legs, almost too roughly, eyes then flicking to her face.

"Ow!" Sissy grabbed his wrists then frowned at him, but that was quickly gone once their eyes met. Her hold loosened and he let him, before she lifted up both of her hands to him, speaking softly, "can we change these now?"

"You used to like that," Brandon murmured with a small, bitter smile. But he pulled his pants up and fastened them, holding his hand out for her wrists. "Where are the supplies?"

She had on a lopsided smile; he remembered, and it grew brighter as she looked back at him before pointing to the bag back in the living room. Sissy then wrapped her bandaged wrists around him to pull herself off the table, standing, looking right in Brandon's eyes. "I used to like a shitload of things." If he'd remember those, too.

Most of those things were bad. Bad things from a bad place for both of them. Sleeping together for comfort became something else, twisted.

Brandon fetched the bandages and ointment and sat in front of her as she was again seated on the table, unrolling her bandages carefully. When the wounds were exposed, his jaw was tight. His look was dark, clear. Never again.

Sissy's mouth opened then she closed them again. There was no question she was about to apologize again, but she stayed silent, watching him.

When her wrists were again covered in fresh white gauze, he put the supplies away for later. Brandon handed Sissy her bottle of water and helped her to stand. Then he went into the living room, sitting on the sofa and he reached for the remote.

She sat with him, not asking this time when Sissy leaned against his chest, head to his shoulder, forehead tucked under his chin. The TV played mindless cartoons, black and white, just sounds. She stared blindly at it with her palm to his chest, feeling his heart beating. Brandon was going to need her again. Later. And when he did, she'd be there.

Neither of them moved for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

The room was silent and dark in certain corners, shadows cast by the lights of the cityscape outside of the tall glass windows. The curtains weren't drawn and Sissy was lying on the couch, looking out, trying to see the stars while her fingers idly rubbed back and forth on her arm. She could feel the scars from where she used to cut herself, then the rough gauze that was wrapped around the new slash she had made.

She pressed on her wrists and hissed in pain with something like relief; she could still feel but it was cold. So cold.

That was when she stood, the rustling of the heavy blanket the only sound. Sissy quietly went to the bedroom, the door ominous as it creaked as it announced her presence. She then slid in the bed next to Brandon, her chest pressed to his back as she wrapped around him.

"I'm cold," she murmured against the back of his neck.

"I gave you blankets," he answered, shifting only a little. "You probably kicked them on the floor."

"They're not warm enough," Sissy reasoned, then she fell silent, hugging Brandon closer. Her lips on the back of his neck lingered there and she smiled against his skin.

~

It started much the same. A cold night. Pitch black. Sissy waking up because she did kick the blanket to the floor and she just couldn't get back to sleep. She went to his room and crawled in his bed, sitting there, looking at him sleeping.

"Brandon," Sissy shook him lightly. "Brandon …"

"What?" He woke abruptly, blinking up at her. "Sissy. You can't just walk into my room in the middle of the night. It's my room. Get out."

She pouted. "But I'm cold." Sissy tugged the blanket down and slid herself in feet first. "Can I stay?"

"You have blankets." He pulled them up to his chin, not meeting her gaze, turning on his side away from her, knees pulled up. "Just … don't touch me."

His words didn't faze her because Sissy hugged him from behind and kissed his neck loudly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Then she settled right there, holding him.

"I said don't touch me!" He shoved at her arms, pushing at her. "You're so dense sometimes! You drive me crazy." He even turned, pushing her arms to the bed, revealing quickly why didn't want her touch, hard against her thigh.

When Sissy looked back at Brandon, her chin was wobbly. She was still pressed against him when she felt it. Him. Staring back, still feeling the threat of tears, Sissy moved her thigh but just barely. She waited for him to get angry, to yell. Then, she did it again, one push then done.

"Stop it," he warned, voice low, harsh, hand closing on her knee, pushing her back and keeping her there. "I mean it, Sissy. This isn't funny."

That was when she pulled back completely, eyes still fixed on Brandon then she tugged the blanket up higher, curling to lay on her side. She wanted to stay right here with him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You always say you're sorry. You say it too much." He didn't move, still lying with his back to her. "Why do you say it so much?"

She was staring at the back of his head, shrugging even though he wouldn't see it. "Because I'm sorry." Her hand went to him but stopped mid-reach before Sissy pulled it back tucking both her hands under her cheek. "Don't be angry."

She could hear him sigh. "I'm not angry. You shouldn't apologize so much." He turned over to look at her in the gloom, his face hard. There were other people who should apologize in their lives.

Sissy stared in his eyes, brows drawn, biting the inside of her cheek while nodding slowly. She knew what he meant; she shouldn't blame herself. She pushed up and kissed his cheek, whispering, "good night, Brandon," then tucked in beside him. Not touching.

Neither of them seemed able to fall asleep. Brandon lay on his back, arm under his head, staring at the dark ceiling. "You're staring," he whispered.

"So are you." Just not at her. Sissy scooted slow, just a little bit closer. "I can't sleep." Which was stating the obvious but she let her hand brush against his side.

He went still at the touch, eyes narrowing. But that was his only response. "Aren't you tired?"

Sissy nodded slowly. "You?" Since he didn't get angry again, her hand slid around his middle, her head pressed against his shoulder.

"Sissy - " The word came out between gritted teeth. "What are you doing?"

The silence stretched between them a moment until Sissy spoke softly. "Can you just give me a hug?"

"Then will you leave me alone and let me sleep?"

She smiled slowly. "Yes." Already she was lifting her head to place it on his shoulder, her arm more securely around Brandon. She shifted a few times, getting comfortable.

"This isn't a hug," he noted, but his voice was soft. "This is … something else."

Tilting her head to look at him, Sissy then gave Brandon a small smile. "That's not really you complaining so it doesn't count." She didn't move away.

They were still for a moment before he started to push at her arm, his muscles tightening under her. "Let go. Sissy, let go."

"Stop!" She fought to stay. "Brandon, stop. Just let me, okay?" Sissy struggled with him. "Just let me." Finally she freed one arm and smacked him on the chest.

"What'd you do that for?!" He grabbed her wrist, rolling over and pinning her to the bed. "Why'd you hit me?!" He was hard against her thigh again, hot under the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms. "Don't hit me, Sissy," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Her eyes grew wider, looking back, breathing heavily with her chest slowly rising and falling. "I'm sorry," she said, whispered so low it would barely reach Brandon. This time she didn't move. She couldn't. Watching him like she was waiting for something to happen. When nothing really did, she very cautiously, almost experimentally, lifted her hips, eyes fixed on Brandon's face.

He let go of her wrist almost in slow motion, hand over her skin still. Brandon searched her face in the dark. A beat then he slid between her legs. Her other hand was pinned to the bed and his breathing got labored.

Brandon would feel the way that Sissy's breath hitched though it happened quietly. She didn't look away from him, not when her legs parted, not when her hips rocked up toward him.

He let go of a wrist just long enough to pull himself through his the fly of his pants and push her nightgown up her hips. Without any kind of finesse, he pushed his dick inside. When he broke through the resistance he whispered, "sorry," but started thrusting, his breathing high and tight.

Her hands may have been freed but Sissy kept them over her head, fingers clawing at the sheets as she bit her bottom lip to hold back the noises she wanted to make. She could feel him - all of him - too thick, too long, too tight, and she groaned, her body shaking.

In the magazines, it never talked about this. The girls were always begging for it, mouths open, big tits with the hard nipples. Brandon was excited to do any of that, hips moving faster and faster as she got wetter around him.

Sissy's pained whimpers turned into something else. She felt it changing with the reaction of her body. Letting go of the sheets, she grabbed on to Brandon's hips, feeling each thrust he pounded inside her, deeper that she could hardly breathe. She was moaning now and her hips were moving with his, her breasts bouncing on her chest, nipples hard.

~

This was how it started. Brandon learned that Sissy would come easily. He just had to touch her in the right places with his fingers. He would spread her legs after school and she looked like the girls in the magazines on his bed. Then he would fuck her. The more they fucked, the longer he lasted.

At night, he would lock the door and sit in his desk chair at the foot of the bed. "Take off your clothes," he ordered, naked, cock hard between his legs. "Get on your hands and knees."

Sissy would stand there and she would never resist, never protest. He'd shown her the magazines that even before he'd point them out, she'd known what he liked.

Off went her clothes, left right where she took them off and then she was completely naked in front of Brandon, heat rising on her skin just from the way he looked at her. She climbed on the bed, looking over her shoulder as she went on her hands and knees, completely exposed to him.

She never said no. Brandon kept waiting for her to say no, but she never did. "Touch yourself," he told her as his cock got hard. "Make yourself come."

Sissy stared at him from over her shoulder, a brow raised because she didn't expect him to ask her that. But then her hand began to move, sliding inside her thighs then between her legs. She hung her head down and could see him, his cock and she could feel herself get wetter while fingers moved between damp folds.

"Make noises," he told her as he started to jerk off slowly. "Make noises." Like the girls on the videos. "Say things like how much you want my cock."

That was easy enough to do - make noises - because she could feel the pleasure begin to build. Sissy parted her lips and she moaned, her eyes closing. "I want your cock," she said, licking around her lips.

"That's not very good." She'd watched the videos too; he'd made her. "You know how they sound." He got up, closer to the bed, and spanked her butt. "Say it again."

She cried out, fingers stilling between her legs then she looked over to glare at him. The sting caught her attention then, and then his face. It was enough for her to press her face against the sheets, ass in the air, fingers moving in circles and then when she spoke, it was softly moaned, "I want your cock - Brandon - I want --" Sissy whimpered, "fuck me …"

Brandon's face and chest turned pink. This was hot. She did whatever he wanted. "Did you like that? When I spanked you?" He'd seen that in videos too. "Tell me."

"I don't know," Sissy said, blinking slowly, head down, seeing him from between her parted knees. She moaned again, eyes slipping shut.

So he smacked her again, hand landing on her butt again, over both cheeks.

"Ah! Brandon!" But she didn't stop her fingers from moving, her body now rocking back and forth, her moans getting stilted, louder. Just like in the videos he would watch.

So he spanked her again, spanked her as she made herself come with her fingers. And that was the first time he fucked her from behind.

~

It was late and Sissy couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned and kicked the blanket off before tossing and turning again. She finally gave up sleep around three, getting up, padding to Brandon's room, quiet. When she shut and locked the door.

She crawled in his bed, under the covers, over his body. "Bran-don," she sing-songed quietly.

"Not now, Sissy," he grunted, turning away, onto his stomach. He had to work in the morning. "Go to sleep."

"Will you cuddle with me?" She asked, lips by the shell of his ear, breath warm as it ghosted over his skin and back toward her.

"You never want to cuddle. It always means something else." His voice was graveled with fatigue. "Get off me."

"It means I'm your sister, you're my brother and we look out for each other," she said, rolling off him, landing heavily at his side. "I'm sleeping here, okay?"

"You never sleep." He turned his head to look at her. "Sleep, Sissy."

She wanted to cuddle but settled on her side, eyes watching Brandon, hands tucked under her chin. It was too warm to cuddle anyway.

~

It was so warm that summer. She had a fan aimed at her but it only made Sissy more uncomfortable. She took her shirt off, only in cotton panties, growling at the heat.

"You're a slut," came a voice from her bedroom door. Brandon stood there, letting his schoolbag fall from his shoulder. "Anybody could walk in on you like this and you don't care, do you?"

"Fuck you!" She tossed her discarded shirt at him. "Who would walk in? It's my room, Brandon. My room." She pointed out with a frown. "I not a slut."

"You are a slut." He closed the door behind himself, twisting the lock. "I bet your pussy's all wet already. Your nipples are hard. Pinch them."

She shut her legs tight. "I'm not a slut." Sissy glared at him. "Don't call me that!"

"Pinch your nipples or I'll spank you." He came closer, already tall and lanky at sixteen.

"Take it back!" Sissy insisted, arm going over her breasts but she was rubbing her thighs together, already very wet she was sure her panties were soaked through. "Take it back, Brandon."

His hand closed around her arm and he pulled her onto the bed, onto her belly. Then he straddled her legs, slapping at her ass, hard.

"Ow!" She struggled but he was a lot taller than her now. "Brandon!" But her voice slipped from startled to something else that sounded more throaty, moaned. "Brandon ..." Sissy wriggled more under him. "Get off me!"

"Say you're a slut," he ordered, still spanking her hard. "Say it. Because you are a slut. My sister's a dirty slut."

"It hurts, Brandon!" Sissy sobbed but they kept coming until she yelled out, "I'm a slut! Okay?! I'm a dirty slut! A dirty slut! _Your dirty slut_!" Her voice broke.

He stopped swatting her abruptly, still straddling her legs. "Stop crying, Sissy. Just … stop crying." He knelt up to turn her over. "I'll fuck you and you'll feel better." He started to massage her tits.

"Brandon--" She could feel the heat and the sting on her ass pressed on the bed now but still Sissy's body arched toward his hand. She was soaking wet now, wanting it, too.

That night, he fucked her ass for the first time, then got her ice to dull the ache.

~

New York at night was never dark. There were times when Brandon could feel the need, tight in his gut. He'd been good since Sissy was out of the hospital. Her wrists were healing, he took her to her counseling appointments, all that. But that didn't kill the need. He stood, looking out at the city, his empty beer bottle still in his hand.

Sissy had barely left Brandon's apartment. She'd been good. She was back to sleeping on his sofa, back to making a mess of his things but she was trying. "Anything interesting out there?" She asked, stepping closer, arms wrapping him from behind, head peering past his shoulder to look outside.

She could feel him tense under his arms. "Not tonight, Sissy. Don't do this tonight." His voice held warning.

"Don't do what tonight?" She didn't let go, instead reaching around him, going for the beer.

Don't do your 'I want a hug' game tonight. I'm not in the mood." He let her have the empty bottle, pushing her arms away from him.

"What mood are you in?" She asked, taking the bottle, frowning when she realized it was empty and she put it down. Sissy looked at Brandon again but she stayed apart. "Tell me. Maybe I can do something about it?"

He looked at her, eyes hooded and he shook his head. "Not tonight, Sissy. Go put your headphones in. Watch a movie or something."

Sissy didn't move away. She stared at him for a while before she stepped in front of him, getting down on her knees, her hands already reaching for the fly of his pants.

~

She didn't mean to walk in on him. Sissy just got home and she wanted to see if Brandon was around. The house got too quiet, too empty sometimes. She didn't bother to knock, walking in as she called his name. "Bran-- Oh!"

"Shit!" Brandon flopped back on the bed, eyes closed, his whole body flushed, cock red and heavy. "Don't you even know how to knock?!"

The door was still open and she stood there looking at him. "Sorry," she said, whispered. She seemed to be frozen there a second before she walked the rest of the way in and closed the door. "You should lock the door."

"You weren't supposed to be home for another hour." He was panting, watching her. "You should suck my dick. Like the girls in the videos do. Do it."

Sissy locked the door then she walked over to stand beside Brandon's bed, her eyes not leaving his dick. It was huge. Long and hard and she licked around her lips just thinking of his suggestion. "I've never--" Already she was crawling on the bed to settle between his parted legs.

"Just suck it. Like those girls." The slutty ones with the big fake tits. Brandon watched Sissy, hands behind his head. "Suck it. I'll come on your face."

"Ew!" Sissy reached out and curled her fingers at the base of his cock. "Don't come on my face. And this shirt is new," she pointed out, bending down, taking a tentative lick of the tip of his cock, her eyes on Brandon.

"Then take it off. You saw the movies. They always come on the girl's face. Or her tits. Take the shirt off. And your bra." But his breath caught with the little touch.

"You just like looking at my tits." She let him go, grinning when he saw the expression on his face and then Sissy was pulling her shirt off, then her bra. Her breasts bounced then settled and she cupped them, eyes on Brandon. "You like these better than those in the magazines, right?" She squeezed them.

"Lick your own nipple," he told her, stroking his dick. "Then you can ride me. I saw you talking to that boy. You think he likes you. He just wants to eat your pussy."

"Maybe I want my pussy eaten." But then Sissy stuck her tongue out, trying to reach for her nipple, the tip barely there. She still stared at Brandon.

"You want a boyfriend who brings you flowers and takes you on dates." He was watching her avidly. "You want to go to prom." They both knew that wasn't going to happen.

"Valentines," she said with a grin, pulling her head back. "I want chocolates and valentines." She crawled over to him again. "But what if I still want my pussy eaten." She wrapped her hand around his dick again. "Who'd do it? You?"

"Is that what you want?" he asked, voice thready. "We know you like more. You're a dirty slut. Remember the washing machine?" His eyes grew dark. "We could get a dog. The dog would lick your pussy."

"Fuck you! I'm not letting a dog lick me!" She stroked him. "Fucker." Her hand tightened around him, the pace slow, thumb rubbing at the head. "Maybe a boyfriend would do it. And take me to prom."

"You'd get off on it. Or a girl. You'd let anyone lick your pussy. Slut." His eyes were dark and lidded. "Then you'd beg someone to fuck you. Like now. You're dripping wet, I bet, wanting my dick. You'd even take it in the ass again."

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" But he was right. She _was_ wet.

He sat up, hands on her shoulders and pushed her to the bed, barely getting her panties off before he was fucking her hard, hips slapping against hers, old bed creaking with the force of his thrusts.

She came hard all around Brandon's cock. Many times. The more they did this, it seemed the longer it lasted, the more pleasurable it became and the more Sissy knew what to do and how to do it.

~

Just like now. Sissy pulled his dick from his pants, her eyes flicking to look up at Brandon and then she stroked him, smiling. "Now tell me what mood you're in," she said, just before Sissy took his length in her mouth.

Too much talking. He framed her head with his hands, guiding her mouth to his cock, pushing her to take as much as she could, almost choking on it. Then he held her head as he stroked himself off, coming all over her face.

That was the mood he was in.

~

He'd rigged a spreader bar out of stuff he found in the garage and masking tape and he pushed Sissy's legs apart. He'd gagged her too, taking it from another movie he'd watched, her hands taped over her head. She always did whatever he wanted and he could see the wetness on her thighs as he picked up the wooden spatula he'd taken from the kitchen.

Naked, he knelt next to her, using the spatula to slap lightly at her nipples.

All he could see would be Sissy's eyes shutting tight and the only sound she was able to make were groans and muffled, incoherent words. Her body writhed, curling to avoid another hit while she shook her head even though her nipples were very hard nubs, the skin around it turning pink.

The curl of his mouth was almost vicious, stopping just shy of that as he tugged first one, then the other. But then he was raising the spatula over her pussy. "I bet you come from this," he whispered, then he tapped it against her.

More groaning, with Sissy unable to control how her body moved. She was part moving away, part moving toward Brandon and the the sounds she made changed to more moaning, less pained grunts.

He shifted where the spatula landed, to where she was wetter, the sound a smacking noise that made his dick jump.

Brandon would see the way her legs were beginning to tremble and the way Sissy's toes curled. Her hands were fisted, trying to tug herself free until she was screaming through the gag, whole body vibrating as she came.

He straddled her waist then, his dick between her tits, bringing himself off that way, the come covering her chin, her chest.

He was slow to untie her, still touching her, teasing her nipples, her pussy. Slut.

Once freed, Sissy curled her body, arms hugging herself, still shaking from the intensity, each breath she pulled in hitching. One hand reached for Brandon, touching him just as she closed her eyes.

He let her hold his hand for a few minutes, then he pulled away.

That night she sneaked in his room again and crawled in his bed. She didn't ask for a cuddle, but she watched him watching her until one of them fell asleep.

~

It was prom night and Sissy got the prettiest pink dress. It was soft and flowing and she twirled as she stood in the middle of Brandon's room. "You like it?" She asked, turning in slow circles for him.

"Are you going to let him kiss your tits?" He looked from his Penthouse, then back down. "Are you going to suck his dick in that dress?"

She stopped turning suddenly that Sissy almost toppled to the side in her high heels that matched the dress. "He'll give me a corsage and we're going to go dance then he'll walk me to the door and give me a kiss." She told him, sticking her tongue out just because.

He scooted to the edge of the bed then, waiting until she came closer. Then he reached up under that pretty pink dress, under the pretty white panties and he rubbed her, hard, right where he knew would bring her off fast.

Sissy's fingers dug deep in his shoulders, her legs parting even more for him, lifting one to hook over his thigh. Her head fell back and she moaned as she came quickly and hard, falling over his lap with her body still shaking. "Fuck you," but it was whispered.

He helped her to her feet with a dark smirk. "Have fun at prom, little sister." He reached back for his magazine.

"I will," she said, walking unsteadily toward his door but before she closed it, she looked over her shoulder, smiling. "Don't miss me too much," she said, pointing to him. "... but you can keep licking your fingers to taste me until I come back." She shut the door with a click.

When she did return, his room was dark and he was pretending to sleep, naked under his sheets. He didn't move when she came in, but she always knew when he was pretending.

Someone spiked the punch and Sissy found she liked it. She remembered all the dancing, the many boys vying for her attention, her date getting ticked off. But she made it up to him, she thought. She didn't quite remember.

Sissy pulled the gown off slowly, wondering why it was partly torn and dirty. Then she kicked off her heels just as the once pretty pink dress fell on the floor. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her panties, too.

"Fuck it," she mumbled, crawling into Brandon's bed only to collapse partly over his body. "I thought you'd be asleep now," she mumbled, arm (with her corsage still around her wrist) wrapping around him.

"What happened to you?" He asked, voice low, and Sissy would know, dangerous.

"Someone spiked the drinks." Her voice was still sluggish but she laughed. "I danced and danced, Brandon..." Sissy sighed happily, smiling at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "I think I'm in love."

"You stink." He pushed her away, sitting up, face icy. "You stink like a cheap slut. Get out of my bed. Now. And take a shower. You're disgusting."

"Brandon! Stop calling me a slut!" She scowled at him, hand going to her corsage and smiling at it. "You'll ruin my flower." She didn't move away. "...and it's a party. It's Prom. Everyone drinks, every boy wants to get to at least second base, and everyone just wants to have a good time."

"So you let them? How many Sissy?" He pushed her again. "How much cum do you have in you now? You stink. Get out of my bed." And when she didn't move fast enough he pushed her again, grabbing her by the arms to have her end up on the floor. "Get out of my room. _Now!_ "

"Why are you so angry?!" Sissy was crying now. "You said have fun and that's what I did!" Slowly she rolled to get on her hands and knees, sobbing as she crawled toward her dress.

"You have a warped definition of fun if it means spreading your legs for every asshole who looks at you. Quit crying," Brandon said, following, voice low and quietly ominous. "Get out of my room. Get out of my room, Sissy! Get out of my _room_!"

Sissy got up and she reached for him, one hand still clutching on to her dress. "I'm sorry … I'm sorry …" She tried to get on his bed again, eyes watery, tears running down her cheeks and smearing mascara, looking at Brandon. "I don't Brandon, I swear..."

"Get out!" The door was pulled open and she was pushed out, the door shutting in her face, the lock turned. He stood, silent, on the other side.

"Brandon ..." Her voice was quiet, quivering from crying, hand on the closed door and pounding on it. "Brandon..." Sissy held the dress to her belly, sobbing. "Brandon... I think I'm gonna be sick... Brandon, please! I'm sorry!"

He didn't speak again, backing away from the door to sit silently on his bed, staring.

Sissy didn't leave. She just sat there, leaning against his door until she couldn't cry anymore. "Brandon..." She called to him constantly, her voice hoarse, whispered. "Brandon..." But he never did open the door.

That morning was the first time Sissy held a blade to her arm, cutting, feeling the pain. At least she _felt_ something that wasn't just being numbed.

They didn't sleep together again in the house. Brandon left for college two months later. They were two people from a bad place. A place neither of them ever returned to.

~

The light streamed in from the city through his windows and Brandon stared at the ceiling. "Why are you staring at me?" he asked, sensing her at the door.

She walked into his room slowly, as if Brandon speaking was her invitation to come in. "I got a gig," Sissy told him, stopping right at the edge of his bed, ignoring his question.

He didn't ask any more, she would give him the information. He lay still, arm pillowing his head.

"You're coming, right?" A knee went on the edge of the bed. It was clear she was hesitating this time. When no protest came, Sissy, knelt there, then on her hands she crawled over. "Say you're going to come?"

A pause stretched out, longer and longer. Just as she was going to say something again, he spoke. "I'll go."

"You mean it?" Sissy bent over him, closer to his face to see if he was just egging her on or if he really did mean it. "Just you." No more David. "You'll come see me..." Her smile was tentative but there.

"I mean it. It's late. Go to sleep. You never sleep enough," he said, turning his gaze to the ceiling.

He was really going. Sissy whisper-squealed and then threw her arms much as she could around him, ending up straddled on Brandon's lap. "Yay," she said with a grin. "I'll pick a special song just for you." Sissy kissed Brandon on the cheek and he'd feel her smile still there.

"Get off me," he told her, but it lacked heat, his face tired. "And sleep."

"Okay!" She sat up, thighs hugging his hips, looking down with her hair tousled over her face. "Tomorrow. I'll even buy you a drink." She rocked inadvertently over him before getting off of him.

Sissy had done this many times before. She'd come and go, appear then disappear, staying with Brandon or at least close by. She called him. Always. Leaving messages because he never really picked up his phone. He knew every single gig she'd had in New York and the one time he showed, she fucked it up by taking Brandon's boss, David home to fuck in Brandon's bed.

She swore it wouldn't happen again this time.

But they were both fucked up and they knew it. She wore her scars on the outside; he wore his inside. She believed they weren't bad people. He wasn't so sure.

She fell asleep before he did, curled away from him.


End file.
